In the first of an occasional series, our wine writer Victoria Moore interviews
manners maven Jo Bryant over lunch at the British dining institution
Rules.

There is a small frisson as we look at the menu. And it’s not caused by the sight of bone marrow, golden syrup sponge pudding or venison cottage pie.

“Have you seen this?” says the etiquette expert Jo Bryant. Right at the top, there’s an aperitif called Kate Middleton’s Royal 29: a martini-style drink made with gin, strawberry-rose-and-violet-flavoured vodka, Lillet (a vermouth-ish aperitif from Bordeaux) and crystallised petals.

“That surprises me. Look, there’s a special crown next to it. It’s a bit…” I think Jo would like to say “naff” – but perhaps the word naff is itself a little… naff.

What would I know? Hold on to the tassels on your loafers but I was brought up to call the loo a toilet and, “Don’t say, 'What’, Victoria, it’s, 'Pardon’.” Two words of which I am pretty sure the Dowager Countess of Grantham would not approve.

Perhaps a residual anxiety about Not Fitting In was why I’d never been to the British dining institution that is Rules. After all, its very name seems to suggest one might be told off for picking up the wrong fork. But this made it the perfect place to take the co-author of the new Debrett’s Guide to Entertaining Etiquette.

How silly I’d been to deny myself this glorious place. I loved Rules from the moment the liveried doorman smiled a crinkly smile and drew me off the streets of 21st-century Covent Garden. Walking in here is like slipping into your own Agatha Christie novel. A welcoming fire burns in the grate. Beyond is a carpeted den of wall-mounted antlers, dark wood, and claret velveteen banquettes so cosy you want to curl up and stay until bedtime.

London’s oldest restaurant, a grand celebration of British food, has been here, in one form or another, since 1798 when Thomas Rule (the name has nothing to do with behaviour) set up an oyster bar on Maiden Lane. Britain’s guide to aristocracy and manners has a similar pedigree: it was founded in 1769 and, if Rules is going all 21st-century cheesy with its Royal 29, Debrett’s, too, has been subtly modernising itself. Take Jo, not the grizzled matriarch one might expect, but a smiley, 34-year-old former Benenden girl.

“The idea that etiquette is intimidating or exclusive is really not what Debrett’s is about,” she says crisply. Really? “In days gone by it was a very alienating principle and you could trip yourself up quite easily. The way I view it now is that manners are inclusive. The idea is to make others feel comfortable.”

The chap lunching alone – how fabulous that people still do that – at the next table seems to be enjoying his whole roast squab pigeon but we decide to share rib of Belted Galloway beef (£32 per person) from the restaurant’s own Lartington Estate in the Pennines; no question marks over the provenance of this cow.

The starters are excellent, though Rules comes in for a rap from Jo for being slow with the finger bowl. And when it does arrive I get all flustered trying to crack a claw and utter the “s”-word (“Avoid calling [napkins] serviettes,” Jo’s book advises).

What is wrong with “serviette” anyway? It’s more than half a century since Nancy Mitford declared it a Non-U word. “It’s about custom,” says Jo. “If someone says it you needn’t kick them out. It would actually be polite to carry on calling it that to make your guest feel comfortable.”

By the time the beef arrives we’ve covered how to ask where the loo is in a restaurant (“I think 'Ladies’ is a good catch-all”) and whether you should respond when someone says “Bless you” after a sneeze: “I think a polite, casual 'Thank you’. I don’t think people should say 'Bless you’ back. Some people do that.”

The meat is truly first-class. The Yorkshire puddings, though – oh, Rules – are leathery on the outside, doughy within, and just don’t taste right. Not up to my mum’s standard.

We are feeble drinkers, sharing just two glasses (a good chablis and a basic red burgundy) but the wine list is fair enough, straightforward and classic .

By the time we share a delicious, mouth-tingling tangerine jelly, blood-orange sorbet and orange salad I’m beginning to think I’ve got the hang of this manners thing. The new manners are less about being formally correct, more about common sense and clever problem-solving. For example, the book recommends taking an “executive decision” to order a taxi to remove drunk guests, who will probably be sloshed enough to think they called it themselves.

Then I notice one of my more rubicund fellow diners across the room has just taken a bite from a potato he is holding with his fingers. I look at Jo. “You can get away with a lot if you do it with aplomb,” she says. I give up. But I shall be going back to Rules.